


Banana Pancakes

by AllieCat



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hamish is adorable, M/M, Parentlock, school shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieCat/pseuds/AllieCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock is called to a school shooting, he begins to realise just how lucky he is to have Hamish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Banana Pancakes

  
The call had come early, earlier than Sherlock had wanted to be awake, anyway. They'd just finished a rather large, very mentally taxing case, and Sherlock wanted to sleep, and do absolutely nothing more for a minimum of four hours.  This desire however, was very rudely interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. "Thought I told you to turn that thing off?" John gurgled into his pillow, still mostly asleep. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and reached over his husband, grabbing his phone off of the night stand, answering it quickly.  
  
"Listen, Sherlock. I know it hasn't even been a day since we tied up the last one, but do me a favour, turn your telly on." Lestrade's voice came through the phone.  He was worried, clearly, very agitated and probably a little frightened, Sherlock noticed, and figured that whatever horrendous crime had occurred this morning would explain it. Sherlock wrapped himself in his sheet, ignoring John's sleeping mutterings of protest, and stumbled blearily into the living room, flicking the telly on, but keeping the volume low as not to wake John, or Hamish. Even at five years old, Hamish was notoriously hard to get into bed, let alone sleep, and waking him up would put him in the dog house, probably literally if Gladstone had a house.    
"Text me the address. I'll be there as soon as possible. Make sure I have clearance." Sherlock murmured, before hanging the phone up without a word, absorbed in the disturbing images that played out in front of him. On the television, he saw a headline, one he hadn't expected.  
  
  
SOUTH LONDON SCHOOL SHOOTING: 30 KILLED BY GUNMAN  
  
  
Sherlock quite suddenly had the urge to check on his sleeping son, but he knew he was being stupid, and so he ignored the paternal instinct that had come to him over the past few years, instead going back to the bedroom. "New case, you stay with Hamish." Sherlock murmured, as John turned over in the bed, not liking being woken up.  
  
"What you mean, new case? We just finished the last one last night!" John growled, pulling a pillow over his face, hiding himself from the light as it was switched on. He curled up under the duvet, rolling into the middle of the bed, and sighed deeply, as Sherlock got dressed. "What's this case, then?" John asked, once he'd woken up enough to function.  
  
"There's been a shooting. Keep Hamish home." Sherlock said simply, mind working too fast to explain properly. He pulled his clothes on, slipping into his coat quickly before leaving the room.  
   
"Hey, wait a minute." John shouted after him, practically leaping out of the bed, following after the taller man. "Why do I need to keep Mish home? It's a school day." John asked, genuinely confused. Sherlock looked at him blankly for a moment.  
  
"It was a school shooting." He said, just as the address came through in a text from Lestrade.  "Not Hamish's school. Close by." Sherlock murmured, breathing a sigh of relief when it turned out not to be the school that Hamish attended.  
  
"Jesus." John muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. "Alright, I'll keep him in. " John finally agreed, and stretched to place a kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "He'll be fine, though. I'll explain it to him, because he'll hear about it when he goes back to school, but we won't watch the news." John said, as Sherlock hugged him.  John let go eventually, walking him to the door, before Sherlock headed out into the snowy weather, and watched through the window as he got into a cab.    
  
The scene of the crime was busier than any of those that Sherlock had attended before. There was something about the death of children that drew people in, got them hooked. While it was undoubtedly awful, Sherlock didn't see it as a spectacle for entertainment. He was mostly unaffected by crime, but upon being granted entry to the school, even he couldn't help but wonder how he would be feeling if it were Hamish's school, and they hadn't slept in.    
  
"Sherlock, over here!" Lestrade shouted, waving him over. Sherlock obliged, walking over to the elder man's side. They stood in the cafeteria, and it was like a scene out of some horror movie that he might've been forced to watch, if John like horror. White sheeted, child shaped lumps lay on the floor. Parents crying, teachers sobbing. Sherlock didn't quite know what to do with himself. He skirted the room, taking in all the information, staying utterly silent.  
"They had 'em all in here, too cold to play outside before classes started." Lestrade said quietly, following Sherlock around the huge room. "All five and six year olds, and anyone who got in the way. Bastard was going after his ex, a teacher." Greg muttered, becoming almost angry, although he knew it wouldn't do any good.  
  
"Six foot, three inches. Ambidextrous." Sherlock murmured, peering over one of the bodies. A little boy, with curly black hair. Sherlock swallowed thickly, but continued on anyway, knowing that letting emotion get to him would not be helpful in any circumstance. "Not ambidextrous, left handed. Military trained." He said, as he was shown the body of a teacher. "Precision shots. Arteries, centre of the forehead." Sherlock said stiffly. "I trust you have enough to go by, now?" Sherlock asked.  
  
"Thanks, Sherlock." Lestrade said, nodding. He patted the Consulting Detective's back, and they both headed back out, and Sherlock headed straight for his cab. Whilst Sherlock hadn't allowed himself to feel emotion that one would consider appropriate and normal in such a situation, it had affected him nonetheless.  Sherlock sat quietly in the back the cab, that he'd paid to wait for him, flipping through the few text messages he'd received since he'd turned his phone off before entering the school. They were all from John, telling him to be careful, and that he loved him. Not much different than any other day, but still it helped, if only marginally.  
  
***  
As Sherlock left, John went about their normal routine, though he didn't bother to wake Hamish up. They'd had a late night, and of course the young boy had waited up before going to sleep, and so John thought it best to let him lie in until he woke up on his own. John wanted to keep things as normal as possible for Hamish, and even though the tragedy hadn't effected their family personally, he knew that Hamish would be affected by it. Hamish was an interesting child, obsessed with the world around him, and John was sure that if he turned the telly on, Hamish would want to know about it, and probably be upset over it.  
  
"Daddy?" John heard a familiar sleepy voice behind him, and turned around, finding Hamish there, his teddy in one arm, and his blanket in hand.  
  
"Good morning, love." John smiled, and kissed his cheek. "What do you want for breakfast? We're having a day off today, no school for you, no work for me. Pa's out for a while, but he's coming home soon. We'll all have a day together." John smiled, and couldn't help but laugh as Hamish's face lit up at the idea of not having to go to school for the day.  
  
"Banana pancakes?" He asked hopefully, though he knew they were reserved for weekends.  
  
"I could pull some strings." John grinned, pulling a shake and bake mix out of the pantry. "Orange juice or milk?"  
  
"Juice." Hamish mumbled, still groggy. He thanked his father as a plastic cup of orange juice was placed down in front of him, and he sipped at it tentatively. "Where's Pa?" He asked, as John cooked the banana pancakes. "Make 'em big." He added, drawing shapes on the table top with his fingertip.  
  
"New case from Uncle Greg. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually." John said, trying to ease into the conversation that he was still dreading having. Gladstone hovered around his feet, as he made the pancakes as big as he thought Hamish could eat, and put two on a plate for his son, cutting them in half and spreading jam on one, and Nutella on the other, before putting it in front of Hamish. "None for you, Glad." John murmured, nudging him out of the way.  
  
"Why do we have to talk about it?" Hamish asked curiously, getting tucked into his breakfast without hesitating.  
  
"Well, it's pretty important. John said, sitting down opposite Hamish, a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Pa's case is on the news today, because lots of people were hurt, and killed." John said quietly, watching his son carefully. He knew from past experiences that the only way to talk to Hamish was to be straight about it. He was only a child, but he was smart. "A lot of children from a school on the other side of town were murdered, Hamish, and you're going to hear a lot about it when you go back to school. I don't want you to be frightened, love, but I wanted you to hear it from me." John said, when Hamish baulked, looking at him very seriously.  
  
"It wasn't my school, though? We're just having a day off?" Hamish clarified, as he rolled one of his pancakes up, stuffing the whole thing into his mouth. He wasn't too perturbed by the whole situation, but he had to make sure that his friends were alright, and his teacher.  
  
"No, love, not your school. St Augustine's, in South London." John told him, reassuring him gently, as he ate his own breakfast, trying to keep the situation normal. "Just a day off, bud." John smiled, and ate in relative silence for a while, as Hamish had quietened down considerably.  
They finished their breakfast, and curled up on the sofa together, quickly joined buy a hungry bull dog who was only looking for leftovers.  
  
"Get off me, Gladdy. He stinks, Dad." Hamish said, utterly disgusted as he pushed the stocky dog to the floor.  
  
"You be nice to my boy, Mish. He's a good dog." John frowned at him, poking him in the arm as a gentle warning.  
  
"Stinky." Hamish retorted, not bothered by John's poke in the slightest.  
  
"Yeah, alright." There was no use in arguing today, John remembered, and pulled Hamish into his lap, settling the dog down beside him, before he turned the telly on. He skipped straight through to the children's programming, not even wanting to stop on the news for a second. Even though Hamish was adopted, he had definitely taken after Sherlock in his personality, and he even had the man's hair, by some lucky chance. John petted Hamish's curls as the boy laid down in his lap, idly watching the TV, and patting Gladstone at the same time, even though he had breath like rotten meat. Hamish clutched his teddy close, feeling safe with his dad, even though he thought it would be nice to have Pa beside him too.  
  
"When's Pa coming home?" Hamish asked, after they'd been watching the TV for a while, and he'd grown bored. "He'll be sad when he comes home." Hamish sighed, thinking of the days that his Pa spent curled on the couch, not talking to anyone, not even Daddy.  
  
"He'll be back soon, love. I'm sure he's alright, don't worry."  
  
***  
  
When Sherlock finally made it back to Baker ST, the sight he was faced with was enough to make him smile. Gladstone jumped up against his shins, and Sherlock picked the fat little dog up, and headed over towards the sofa, where Hamish and John were both fast asleep, John still sitting upright, albeit leaning off to one side, with Hamish curled up in his lap. Sherlock prised the remote from John's loose grip, and turned the television off, before moving into the kitchen boiling the kettle for himself. He sat there, sipping at his drink, losing himself in his thoughts, until he felt a tug on his coat. "Hello, Hamish." Sherlock said, continuing to sip his drink.  
  
"Are you sad because of the dead children?" Hamish asked quietly, watching his father carefully. Hamish climbed into Sherlock's lap, though he hadn't been invited, and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's lips, before settling down, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder.  
  
"I'm fine, Hamish." Sherlock said, and he was  sure he was being honest. Whilst the crime had been terrible, and gruesome, Sherlock felt removed from the situation, even if the sight of the small children had reminded him of his own child. "I'm just glad you're alright." Sherlock said quietly, coming to wrap his free arm around him. Even after six years of practice, Sherlock still felt awkward, and uncoordinated when he hugged the boy. It wasn't like hugging John, he didn't slide into place quite as easily.  Hamish didn't seem to mind, though, and he snuggled in pulling Sherlock's woollen coat around himself like a blanket.  
  
"I love you, Pa." Hamish said softly, his voice muffled through Sherlock's shirt.  
  
"I love you too, Hamish."  
  
They sat there for a while, before Sherlock carried the young boy back over to the sofa, sitting down beside John, and his stupid dog. He'd never particularly liked Gladstone, though the short, borderline obese, slobbery dog had grown on him over the past few years.  
  
Later that night, when Hamish was all tucked up in bed, with extra kisses and longer hugs, Sherlock and John were finally alone. Having put Hamish to bed, John came back downstairs, and John Sherlock on the sofa, curling into Sherlock's side, one arm slung around his waist. "You alright?" John asked, looking up at him, watching his face carefully.  
  
"I'm quite fine, John." Sherlock replied, picking John's hand up, and giving his short, stubby fingers a squeeze. "It wasn't a pleasant case, but it had to be done." Sherlock explained, and pulled John closer to him. "They were five and six, all of them." Sherlock sighed, talking with no real expression in his face. Truth be told, he felt numb, though he wasn't sure why, none of the deaths had effected his family personally. "One little boy had hair like Hamish's." He murmured quietly, as John kissed his cheek.  
  
"I'm proud of you, Sherlock." John murmured, laying his head down against Sherlock's chest, slipping his arms around his waist. "You've helped a lot of people today. That could've so easily been us." John remarked, still hardly believing it had happened. "The rumours are going wild on telly. It's awful." John sighed, closing his eyes against the fabric of Sherlock's shirt.  
  
Sherlock didn't say anything, simply held John, as he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say anyway.  "Let's go to bed." He murmured eventually, as he was genuinely tired. He got up, and pulled John to his feet, before they went to the bedroom, closely followed by Gladstone, who crawled into the space between them. "I love you." Sherlock said, as John was drifting off. "Both of you. You and Hamish." He said softly.  
  
"I love you too, Sherlock.  
  
"Good night, John."  
  
"Night, love."  
  
***  
  
 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this, I really appreciate it. I tried to keep Sherlock as IC as possible, but it's pretty hard with parentlock. I hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you think.


End file.
